


JOKER FULL MOVIE ARTHURS POINT OF VIEW PART ONE

by ArthurFlecksGirl



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27837466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurFlecksGirl/pseuds/ArthurFlecksGirl
Summary: I am working on a fanfiction which contains THE WHOLE MOVIE IN ARTHURS POINT OF VIEW (well my version of it). This is PART 1  Its starts with the openig scene and ends after the gun dance scene. I have already written some other scenes but these are the only ones I have written chonological ,so the next part wil be posted as soon as I have written enough scenes in the right order.I really hope you enjoy my interpretation of Arthurs thoughts and emotions.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	JOKER FULL MOVIE ARTHURS POINT OF VIEW PART ONE

1.)

This guy on the radio is talking about how Gotham is slowly falling apart. I can`t hear his words but I feel them. I`m not listening because the music inside of my head is louder than him talking. But yeah I can feel everything he says. Every aspect of falling apart. Inside of me there is not just a town that is about fall. Its a whole world. The world of this man in the mirror. 

I`m sitting in the locker room of my workplace on the make up table. Alone. There are other people in this room with me, also chatting about whatever but I`m still alone. I put the thinner brush into the jar of water, paint the outlines of my lips and wonder why that is. Why I´m always alone. Especially when I´m surrownded by people. They always treat me like I dont exist. But I`m right here. Am I? A mirror doesnt reflect your face when you`re not. And I can see myself very clearly. I can see how unable I am to actually smile. 

A geniue smile. Such an important thing fo a clown to do, right? I have to work on that. Is smiling something you can actually learn? Like, I dont get it. Is it even a smile if you dont feel it with the heart? And if not, what is it called then?

I should try. Okay just let me try. I smile into the mirror but I dont even belive myself. How would anyone else belive me if I dont even belive myself? Its all in the eyes. They are staring back at me, mirroring the sadness I feel deep within. That sadness that has been a part of me since the day I was born. It`s all I´ve ever known. But I dont wanna let it define me. I want to make people happy after all.

I have to do something about that smile since this isnt working. Maybe with a little bit of help I can belive myself. I take both of my index fingers and tugg them to the corner of my mouth to lift them up. Almost a smile. But not quite right. I still dont feel it. How do other people do that? They do it all the time and it doesnt look like this. 

I pull the corner of my mouth down. This feels much more natural. Is that how other people see me? The definition of a sad clown? Even when I´m not wearing my clown gear? Is that why they choose to ignore me? Is it just too hard to look at someone sad?

I wil make it easier for them then. I just have to try a little harder. Until I feel it. Until they can see how I feel it. Until it makes not just other people happy but myself.

I pull my fingers up again. Harder now. Until I see my teeth. Until it hurts. And I pull and hold it until it hurts even more. So hard a dark blue tear is running down my face. I still can`t feel it. Even my tears are stained with darkness. I wish I could make that light visible. That lights that is buried deep inside of me, burning, waiting to be seen. But I dont know how to show it to others. And if I would figure it out, i´m sure they wouldnt even take a look.

Oh god it hurts. Not just on the cornner of my mouth but in my heart.

My fingers finally let go. But I feel no relief.

A smile shouldnt hurt. I know this. 

Why can`t I just be happy like everyone else?

2.)

Life is a chore but at least I love my job. Wearing that fake smile hurt a little bit less when I see kids laughing. Knowing that I`the reason for their bright eyes. But not today. Today I`m dancing on the streets and Gotham is not a very enjoyable place to do so. Most people pass me like I wasnt even there. here I am again. Invisible. They dodnt even look at the huge, yellow sign I`m waving and spinning around. I practiced a lot to make it look that way. And it still remains unseen. But Carnival is good in hiding stuff like that. And right now I am him. A happy party clown that would make anything to put a smile on your face. Even if you are a crumpy, ungreateful little bitch. Thats my job and I`m working a lot of hours to pay rent and be able to take care of my mother. Thats very important to me. Taking care of her. It makes me feel like I am needed. Even if she never listens. And most times I feel like she doesnt even know me.   
Well at least I`m kinda lucky today. A piano man is playing near me, so I have some background music the other people can hear,too. Otherwise I would have danced to the music in my head or play someting on my cassette player. But having another street artist supporting you is always a nice thing, even if he isnt aware of it. because I think he didnt noticed me dancing to his tunes eighter. But I enjoy his music, he seems to be a pretty talented guy. I can picture myself being a street artist with an ukulele in my hands, writing my own songs. I actually like to sing but no one knows. Not even my mother. I often sing to myself when I`m lying in the bathtub or sing myself to sleep. It sometimes calms me down. I think I would make a pretty good acoustic musician. But I haent played the ukulele for months. Which means practice,practice,practice.  
Step, step, step.....Its difficult to dance in those big shoes but I got used to it and I finally figured out these steps. I`m proud of myself.  
"Yo whats up with your shoes bro? If youre gonna be a clown, at least you could be a good one, you know that right?"  
Out of the sudden there are a bunch of kids, insulting me, stealing my sign. Worse- Kennys music sign. It doesnt even belong to me. I gotta have taht thing back.   
"Heyyyy!" I scream, trying to understand what is going on right now. Why would anyone do that? Rob a dancing clown in the middle of the steet? I run after them and yell, asking the people on the streets to stop them but no one is doing anything. They`re all busy with their own lifes. Busy ignoring me. Those kids just run across teh street, being happy about the fact that they just stole the sign from me. I almost get hit by a car while running after them. I bet people would just look the other way if I would die in a car crash.   
"Go clwon, come on!" they yell. iI´m a fast runner but they are way ahead of me since that car got in the way.  
I`m getting short of breath, still yelling at people to please stop those kids.   
They dissappear in a dirty alley. I`m behind them, slipping, getting up again, panting. "hey....you fucking...."  
And then it happens. One of the kids suddenly appears and that sign is crashing right into my face. I fall down as for a moment everything went black. my head hurts like hell. I can barely breathe.   
"Come on, beat his ass up. This guy is weak, he cant do nothing!"  
I hear them say as they start kicking me.  
I`m feeling the cold, hard concrete under my aching body while I`m trying to catch my breath. Its hard to breath while four people kick you in the back. My shoulders feel like they`re about to break. I`m lying on my left side, trying to protect my neck. I dont dare to move. I`ve been there before.   
Someone help me.  
Please, someone see me.  
Someone notice.  
Maybe they will beat me to death. It feels like they do.  
I dont want my life to end on a sidewalk.  
I dont wanna die with people stepping over me.  
"Harder!Harder!" they yell as they continue beating me up.  
I`ll just wait it ot.  
It will pass.  
Like everything else.  
Everything else but the pain.   
The pain always remains.  
The memory of it lives inside me like a shadow.   
Waiting for the day when I will be able to move.

A groan escapes my lips as they let go of me, running away. My lungs hurt. Everything does. My hand reaches for the sign. Can this be repaired? I try to roll on my back but I can hardly move.  
My fingers are seaching for that thing that makes the red flower on my jacket splash the water.   
It rinses down on the dirty ground while some rats are running around behind me.  
Comedy is subjective after all.

3.)

It happens again.

The laughter.

It starts burning in my guts, before it hits the throath, crawling its way up. I always try to cut it off when I feel it . My condition like my mother calls it. She told me that this is caused by brain injury or by neurological reasons. Thats it. I cant remember a time when she was visiting doctors to figure it out what it realy is. The only doctors she called were the one who put me into straight jackets. They never asked what the cause of my laughter was. To them I was just another crazy man. “The little, crazy man, the one who laughs”. Thats what they called me. I wasnt even Arthur to them. Just another crazy mind who should be locked away.

Being locked away wasnt as bad as most people think though. It allowed me to black out the rest of the world. Or should I saw to WHITE out? To bleach out. Yeah I like that. To bleach out the rest of the world. Cuz everyting is white in there. The hallways…the rooms…even my clothes. Not sure about the walls though. They seemed to change their color a lot. Sometimes the walls in Arkham look bright and shiney. So clean you can almost see your reflection in it. I like that, because we are not allowed to have mirrors in our room. You know, there is the possibility to break them and to cut your wrists with the broken glass. So no mirrors. As if I would consider to cut my wrists. Please. There are much better ways to go that that. I always knew which way I would prefer. But I won`t tell you. Not today.

Other times the walls, the floors, everything there looked ugly. Dark yellow like…dirty. I usually felt miserable when it looked like that. I dont know if this had anything to do with the colors changing but…. man.. this dirty yellow…. it really brought me down a lot.

But yeah, I really liked it when the walls looked neat. Especially when the light from the windows came in. So bright it looked like heaven waited outside. It wasnt heaven outside, of course. It was hell. Hell just pretended to be heaven. The way it always is. Hell was wearing a mask. Don`t we all wear masks from time to time?

I`m not sure what this laughter is about. Sometimes I think its not even a condition. Some days it feels like there is something inside of me that just laughs at tragic situations. A dark humor trying to tell me “C`mon, comedy is subjective. REALIZE the comedy here. SEE it. Can`t you see that this is actually a big joke?” And I`m like “No, this isnt funny at all. I feel bad and all I want to do is cry to get this pain out of my chest.” So I try to cut the laughter off, which always ends in me gasping for air, being short of breath. Just like it happens right now.

Dr Kane is looking at me while I`m tring to breathe. She doesnt do or say anything. She knows this already. She just waits it out.

So, where could be the comedy in here? Ummm…

Being at a social workers office that never listens to you. Asking the same shit very week without ever taking notice of your response. Always taking notes but never taking NOTICE. Thats the big joke right here. I got it.

As soon as I was aware of the comedy here, I am able to stop myself from laughing. One last gasp. Haha…hmmm….it`s over.

Dr Kane is annoyed as hell. I can tell from her face. She doesnt care about the actual pain this is causing me. To her I am just this annoying, laughing patient. The crazy one. Right. Maybe I am crazy. Who knows? But what about the rest of the world? What about the other people out there on the streets, yelling at you for trying to make a lil kid laugh? Kids need some joy in their lifes. We all do. But I´m not even allowed to make them laugh. I felt bad for the little boy at the pharmacy a few days ago looking at me with such big, sad eyes. I felt like I was the reason he was sad, because he noticed how depressed I was. HE NOTICED. He knew I was sad, so he got sad,too. Sweet, little empath. Little kids are mostly empathic. Thats why I love them so much. My mum told me that empathy is the ability to FEEL for another person. Like sympathy but different.

Dr Kane surely knows no empathy. I know she doesnt.

“is it just me…” I ask her “Or is it getting crazier out there?”

She nodds “It is certainly tense. People are upset, their stuggeling, looking for work. These are tough times”.

I quietly laugh to myself.

Yeah sure….people are always struggeling but no one caes anyway, right? No one helps someone else who struggles. What about the dead man that died on teh sidewalk a few weeks ago? He was stuggeling,too before people stepped over his dead body. But no one cares about a drunk, homeless man dying on the sidewalk. Imagin your whole life ends on a sidewalk with people stepping over you.

“How about you? Have you been keeping up with your jounal?”

“Yes maam” I suck on my cigarette.

“Did you bring it with you?”

I cant help myself giving her a look. What a question is this? As if I would go anywhere without my journal. I come here for so long now and I never forgot my journal. And she is asking me if I have it with me. Also its pretty personal. I dont feel like handing it out to her every week, but I have to. Its part of this therapy and she doesnt really take a close look anyway.

I`m blowing out the smoke.

“Arthur….last time I ask you to bring your journal with you to these appointments. Can I see it?”

My legs are starting to bounce and I try to stop them by pressing my hands against them. I had my journal with me last time. But I didnt felt like showing it to her. The latest pages were filled with pornographic pictures I found in magazines. And I just felt ashamed about it last week. I dont even know why I put them in there. I guess I wanted to find out if i am able to FEEL something, like sexual attraction. Because my medication won`t let me feel it sometimes.

Calm your legs, Arthur. Calm your legs I tell myself as I grab the notebook.

“I`ve been using it as a….as a journal. But also as a joke diary. ” She takes the diary, giving me a look.

“ Funny thoughts or….observations. I think I told you that I`m persuming a career in stand up comedy”.

She goes to the pages quickly. No close look, no real reading like always. I wonder why she even wants to see it, if she doesnt read it. She sees the naked ladies with the blacked out faces of course. I blacked their faces out because I feel bad about trying to jerk off to someone who is an actual person who I dont know personally. I mean…these girls…. they have lifes, right? Its nothing personal, so I just black the faces out. Even when I draw them. The only face I want to see while I`m getting myself off is Sophies. The thing I have for Sophie is personal. But I dont keep her in my journal. Maybe I would if I had an actual photograph of her. I wouldnt black out her face, because I am madly in love with her.

“No you didnt” Dr Kane replied, looking kinda irritated by the pages.

“I think i did”

Shes stopps at a random page “I just hope my death makes more sense than my life”.

CENTS. It says CENTS. She doesnt even get the joke. But thats nothing that surprises me.

I smile to myself.

Yeah well…who doesnt hope that their death makes more sense than their lifes? I mean come on. whats the point in most lifes anyway? I`ts all just a big, painful blurr and then you`re dead. So I guess i isnt a bad thing to hope that there must be something else. Maybe we all get the whole JOKE at the moment we die?

“How does it feel to have to come here? Des it help to have someone to talk to?” her voice so tired. I bet she is tired of this job,too. Tired of life.

Another stupid question. How does it feel to have to come here? How does she think it feels to talk to someone who keeps ignoring your answers? Somemone who doesnt even remember what you told her last time?

I take a smoke, not looking her in the eyes “I think I felt better when I was locked up at the hospital”.

Oh yeah I did. Thats why I keep hiding in the fridge when I have a very bad day. My own secret white room. My womb. My chance to hide from all this bullshit. My coffin.

I miss Arkham. Well….missing is the wrong word. But I appriciated it at some point.

“And have you thought about why you were locked up?”

Her question brings back the flashbacks of me being locked up on my room, banging my head against the door. Bang. Bang. No one cares. Bang bang. Its like a melody. Which is ironic because I banged my head to STOP the melodies. Sometimes the music in my head gets too loud, so I cant even hear what is really goingon around me. And when this happens, the melodies tend to blurr into each other,too. So its not a song anyore, its just white noise. White noise in a white room. How poetic. Bang bang.

“Who knooooows” I answer.

Notes. More notes. Haha. Notes but no notice.

I guess Penny called the ambulance because I was banging my head against the wall at home till it started to bleed real bad. The white noise was so loud I just wanted it to stop. But it didnt. And it didnt stopped at teh hospital eighter, so I kept on banging it against the wall. Its a knocking sound.

Knock Knock

Head against wall

Knock knock

Simple as it is. But I won`t tell Dr. Kane. She won`t listen anyway.

“I was wondering if you could ask the dorcor to increase my medication?”

She checks the papers “Arthur you`re on seven different medications. Surely they must be doing something”.

Yeah. Thas why I ask. They SHOULD do something right? Why do I feel so miserable then? Shouldnt they help me feeling better? Shouldt they help me sleep at night? Keeping me from hearing the white noise when the melodies get out of control? Shouldnt they help me to tell daydreams and reality apart?

Welll…They dont. So I need more. Of differnt stuff. But she wouldnt help me with that. So I have to live with what they give me. I dont even know what would happen if I`d stop taking them. Would I become a different person? Would I lose my mind? Have I already lost it? Would I be able to actually CRY?

“I just don`t wanna feel so bad anymore”.

Will there ever be a day I won`t feel so bad anymore?

Will there ever be a time I will not get beaten up for trying to make people smile, walking up these stairs with burning pain in my fragile body every day?

Oh, how I wish I could dance on these stairs instead.

4.)

The view of Gotham city is passing me by as I watch out the window, sitting in the bus. My head leaned against the glass. The cold surface is cooling my forehead, which is burning up a bit. I was short of my meds and gotta hurry to the pharmacy to get them now. Even though I already know that they won`t make me feel any better. They never do. But I still have to do SOMETHING about my condition, right? I mean, I try. I really do. I go to therapy, I take my meds. I`m workin as a party clown to bring some joy into the world. Its not like I want to let my depression taking over me. I still wanna fullfill my purpose to bring laughter to the world. And I can`t do that if I`m not getting any better. So I try. I try every day.

Every single day seems to be a copy of the day before. I mean some days are better than others. But still they feel like copies. I`m not sure which one are the original days or moments. Or which ones are just faded copies, or hallucinations. A hallucination is like a day dream, only more intense. Sometimes I do daydream, imagin things on purpose. Those times I know exactly that I only imagin it. Mostly I imagin scenarios to feel less alone. Like…having someone by my side. But from time to time I get to lost in it and the lines are starting to blurr into one another. Thats when I lost my sense of reality. One more thing that I really want to keep under control. I would like to have control over anything when it comes to my mind. But sometimes my mind does playing tricks on me.

Ironic isnt it? I mean. I AM MY MIND. No one else but me is in there but still it feels like I am disconnected from it sometimes. Disconnected from myself. And it scares me. So I try to keep it under control. And maybe the meds help me at least a little bit with that, because they supposed to calm me down and helping me sleep. Otherwise my mind would be all over the place. Melodies would start to melt into each other until its white noise only. Letters and words would start blurring into each other, until I cant make out what it says anymore. Even dreams and reality. It all becomes a big blurr in the end. So control is important. The most important thing I have to keep control over is my laughter. But I am still not able to do so. Its the one thing that seems impossible to control.

A little boy is looking at me with his big, sad eyes, while I am watching out the window. He is pouting. I can tell from his face that I am the reason he is sad. He saw me and immediately felt my depression. Saw my worn out face. And now he feels miserable,too. The blame is on me. So I have to do something about it.I look at him and start to play a lil game of picka-boo with him. Making faces. Litle kids LOVE this game. I usually do it at hospitals and birthdays as Carnival tehe clown, but most times it also works without having the make up on. Little kids are so pure at heart. They feel that you just want to make them smile. They just KNOW that you are a good guy, with a good heart.

I suceed. The little boys face brightens up and he is giving me this beautiful smile. Seeing him smile makes me feel warm inside.

But suddenly his mother who is sitting beside him, turns around and is giving me this look. Oh I have been given this look before a hundered times. I knwo what comes next. She doesnt want me to make her kid smile. This happens so often but its still shocking me. Why would a parent stop you from making her kid smile? I just dont get it. They should be happy to see their kids enjoing something, right?

“Would you stop bothering my kid?”

I dont know why, but i feel ashemed the second I hear her saying this. Even though I know that I did nothing wrong.

“I wasnt bothering him….I was….”

…please let me explain this. let me exlain that I am just a good guy, with a big heart who wants to make your son laugh. Please hear me, lady.

“Just stop!”

She is yelling at me. Her voice so agressive. I feel it. I feel it coming up my throath. Oh no. Please no. Not now. Not in the bus!

“Hm mhm” hold your breath. No ! Breathe! God I dont know what to do. Its going to happen. The laughter.

“Hahahahahah” I cover my mouth with my hand, but this wouldt stop me from laughing. Its been just a few seconds now but I already feel the pain from trying to control it. Ots impossible. Its NOT possible. The laughter comes from deep inside. It feels like there is this part hidden inside of me, that wakes up everytime I feel uncomfortable. Or like crying. That part of me thinks its funny. Or my brain can`t tell sad or funny situations apart. I am not even sure mysef. It could be brain injury or a neurological problem. I dont know what it is, I just know that its there, torturing me. It wants to come out, it wants me to stop fighting against it. But i still fight it.

“Do you think thats funny?” the lady yells at me.

I shake my head.

Oh god no. I dont think thats funny. Please look at me. Look at my face. Can`t you tell that I`m in pain? Can`t you tell that this is not the way YOU look when you are laughing? Why does no one ever notice that? Its just the sound of laughter coming out of my mouth. But look at ME. I am NOT laughing. Please. Just look at me.

She gives me another look. Even worse than last time.

The card. I have to hand her the card. Then she might understand. Most people dont but everytime I hand out the card I am still hoping that the reaction would be different this time.

She grabs the card in an agressive way while I am grabbing my throath with my hands. Its getting harder to breath. The laugh is getting louder now. I feel other people in the bus staring at me. No one ever notices me. No one ever even looks at me out there on the streets. They only look over on me for bad reasons. Like when they hate me for breaking out in laughter Thats the only time people notice that I am even here. No one sees me when I want to make Gotham a better place.

I really want to be the light here in Gotham. To be the little sunbeam across the dark city. But people won`t notice. They think I`m part of the darkness surrownding me. And maybe I am.

Maybe my little light isnt bright enough to set the city on fire.

Maybe darkness swallowed me already. Like it did with most of the poeple here in Gotham. I always wanted to make a CHANGE. The colorful clown dancing down the grey, concrete streets. Thats why I choose a bright, green wig for Carnival. This city needs some color. So it doesnt become part of the blurr insde of my head. I always had a thing for bright colors. Red is my favorite. Its the color of love, I´m an hopeless romantic at heart to be honest. But its also the color of blood. And blood stands for so many things. Life. Pain. Wearing different colors can make a lot to you. They can CHANGE you. Sometimes I think I should get a new jacket. But I love my old, faded brown one. I found it at a thrift store the day I got my job at HaHas and it gives me some kinda comfort. I wish I had a girlfriend , so I could put the jacket around her shoulders when she is freezing. I guess that would be a very romantic thing to do. I saw it serveral times in movies and I really want to do that some day.

The woman starts reading the card :

“Forive my laughter I have a condition. More on back….

Its a medical condition causing sudden,frequent and uncontrollable laughter that doesnt match how you feel. It can happen in people with a brain inury or certain neurological condiions. Thank you! Kindly return the card.”

She turns around. looking at me like I am a disgusting piece of shit. It hurts it just hurts, which causes even more laughter.

“Im….sorry” I cough between the Ha`s .

She doesnt return the card. She just makes sure her son isnt looking my way anymore.

They never return it. I`m not sure why. I always having trouble with making new ones. And I have make A LOT of them. Sometimes people even tear the cards apart in front of my eyes. I don`t know why everyone is so rude.

I get my breathing under control as soon as I leave the bus. Out on the streets I am invisible again. Just a ghost walking to the pharmacy to get meds that won`t help, get out again. Every step hurts my bruised body. I got beaten down by a bunch of kids before, for dancing on the streets. Its still hard to walk and stad up straight. My shoulders blue from their kicks. They kicked hard. Real hard. For a second I thought they`re going to beat me to dead. They left me lying there in some dirty alley. No one saw me gasping for air on the ground. If they`d see me lying on the sidewalk, they would walk right over me.

Me, the invisible man.

Every day I walk these stairs with aching bones and a heavy heart. My heart heavier than the dark, grey sky above me. At least the sky can cry to make itself bright again. I can`t. All I can do is laugh. But that won`t help to make my heart lighter.

5.)

Coming home never feels quite right. I have spent here all my life, so I guess it should feel like home. But it doesnt. I feel like I´m being stucked here. Maybe for the rest of my life. There is still hope to get away from this place though. Out of Gotham. Somehwere far away from those dirty streets. Maybe California. But who knows if this fantasy will ever come true. I have a lot of fantasies going on in my head. And none of them became true. Ever.

I enter the bulding I have known all my life. I dont even notice the bad smell anymore, since there is piled up garbage all over the city. Another walk to the letter box. Another turn of the keys. Its all so mundane. Every day is the same. I need something else. Excitement. Love. Passion. Maybe just a nice word. Or a smile from a stranger on the street. Anything to make my day a little bit different from all the countless others.

The letterbox is empty. Again. Of course it is. Wayne never sends a god damn letter. I dont know why my mum is still trying. I dont even know why she tried to write him letters in the first place. I dont think he ever received one of those. But for some reason its important to mum and I hate to disappoint her by telling her the box is empty over and over again. So even if I dont care about him personally, I wish there was a letter for once. That would be a change,too.

But I have to go to unlock the door without a letter in my hand. Its like re living a deja vu. I even wear the same clothes I was wearing in high school. I would buy some new ones but we dont have much money and there is always something more important to buy than that. I make sure that they`re clean and that my hair looks nice. But I still feel like people are judgy about the clothes you wear. Anyway, somehow the clothes I got bullied for as a tennager became my second skin now. Maybe I am over it and I dont even want a new sweater or jacket anymore.

Music is playing from the radio, which means I havent missed the beginning of the Murray Franklin show yet. At least thats something I can look forward to. The best part of the day. Watching The Murray Franklin show with my mother. Its something we like to do together. Something we share. Some day I hope to be able to watch it with my girlfriend. Cuddeling up on the bed, having someone in my arms. That would be nice. But again, its just a fantasy of mine.

I throw the keys and the meds I just bought at the pharmacy beside and take off my jacket. my back hurts. I will try my best to hide it from my mother. I dont want her to know that I got beaten up again. I can already feel how bruised it will soon look. I guess I have to avoid being shirtless around her for a couple of days. There is already enough for her to worry about. I dont want her to get worried about me,too.

“Happy, did you checked the mail before you came up?”

Happy….it hurts when she calles me that. But she doesnt even notice. Some day I will tell her how much it hurts.

“"Yeah, Mum. Nothing.” I take my meds out of the paper back and think about if I should put some sleeping pills into her meal, so she gets less worried about everything. She needs some rest. And I need some time for myself,too. So we both win when she is asleep early.

The news are still up as I bring her the food. Some meat with carrotts, peas and smashed potatoes I just heated up in the microwave. I wish I was a better cook but no one ever taught me. And I dont`t really eat anyway. I always think I would enjoy cooking for some reason. I enjoy baking and I can do a ginger bread man. But I never do it. I wish I had a gilfriend to bake with.

Dreams. Always dreams.

They talk about the super rats again. Everytime you think this city cant get any worse, it does. Somethimes I wish this city would just burn to the ground. I would stand there and watch it.

“He must not be getting my letters” she says, sitting on the bed.

“Its Thomas Wayne mum. He`s a busy man”

I think she`s right. They might not even hand him the letters. And if they do he wouldnt care. Why should he?“

Mum makes that face while I cut her meat in small pieces. She is disappointed in my answer.

"Please! i worked for that family for years. The least he could do is write back.”

I have to keep calm. I just hate it when she talks about him. I dont even know why I hate it. Maybe because she has the same fantasies I do. The fantasy that people actually care about you but they don`t. And it hurts being reminded of that fact all the time. We are poor. One of the forgotten. Why should someone like Thomas Wayne even care about us? She was cleaning for his family 30 years ago. I dont think she means anything to him. But I cant tell her that. So I just keep calm. I have learned to keep my feelings inside. Poeple dont wanna know how you feel about something.

“Here. Don`t get all worked up, eat. You need to eat.” I touch her face as I give her the food. Poor mum. Those letters must mean much to her.

“You need to eat” she replies “Look how skinny you are”.

She points at me with the fork.

I run my fingers through my hair and look at her. Does she really care about my health? I think she doesnt even realize what is going on with me. Sure, she can see that I am losing weight but she cant tell whats happening on the inside. And I dont want her to. I need someone to see whats on the inside. But not her. She would be concerned and she would get an heart attack or something. And I would be the one to blame. I just wanna be a good son.

“He`ll make a great major. Everybody says so”

“Oh yeah? Everybody who? Who do you talk to?”

“Everybody on the news. He`s the only one who can save the city. He owes it to us.”

She really means that.

Thomas doesnt owe us shit.

I nodd but I know that my face expression gives it away that I just try to not say something she doesnt wanna hear.

She talks like she knows him.

But somehow I can relate. I have the same thing with Murray. I feel like I know him. I mean, I was watching him all my life. And if you do that, you start to feel a connection to those people. They start to become important to you, like family or close friends. And you start to fantasize about being with them. I guess that`s what Thomas is to her. And I think she also has a crush on him.

Murray to me is a father figure. He`s the father I never had. I always imagin him to be my dad. he would make a great dad, because he is funny and he would like my jokes. He would listen to the latest jokes I wrote and laugh at them and he would teach me how to present myself up on stange and in front of the camera. I look up to Murray and could learn so much from him. I am convinced that Murray would bring out the best in me.

“Come sit.” my mother says says “Its starting!”

And that familiar music finally starts to play.

Oh! this is what I have been waiting for when I was with Dr Kane earlier today. I smile and turn the lights off to make it more cosy “Yaayy, Murray!”

I hurry up to get on the bed beside my mum and take off my shoes. Just hearing the melody of the show starting to air is special to me. It makes me feel something. I can`t explain it but its there inside of my heart and I really like it.

As soon as Murray is on the screen I drift away into another state of mind.

I`m not at apartment 8J anymore.

I`m right there with him at the show. In the audience, clapping and laughing for the dad I never had.

I try to seem happy for him.

He deserves one happy son.

But its hard trying to be happy all the time.

But I will smile at him.

And maybe, just maybe when I`m lucky enough I will get a hug from him.

Yeah…

Its true.

This really is the best part of the day.

Murray said the audience is looking good tonight. I`m part of the audience so it feels like he said it right to my face. I feel the corner of my mouth lifting . A smile. I scream at him "Yyyyyyaaaayyyyy". I have to tell him how much he means to me. I know I cant just go to him and explain that he is like a father to me but I can still say something meaningful, right? "I love you Murray".

Murray heard me. He heard my voice . He replies that he loves me too. I bet thats something personal. Maybe he doesnt say it just because I am sitting in teh crowd, maybe there is something more to it. We share a connection.

He asks them to shine their spotlight to me. Not only that, he is actually talking to me. Asking for my name. "I`m Arthur...My name`s Arthur". My voice isnt no longer unheard. "There is something special about you Arthur, I can tell". 

I knew it. I just knew that he sees me for who I am. Maybe he is able to see that light within me I am always trying to shine upon others.

He askes me where I am from and I tell him about me and mum. The audience is chuckeling and whispering because I am still living with her at my age, but Murray understands. I knew he would. He tells me that he is that kid who`s father went out for a pack of cigs and never came back. What a coincidence! It was the same for me. 

Penny never wanted to talk about my father. I dont have any memory of him. I was too little when he left and everytime I asked questions about him, my mother would get angry, so I just gave up on it when I was in my teen years.

We have so much in comment. I knew that somewhere out there must be people who are able to understand what I have been through. I knew there was a reason I always felt like he was the father I never had. I could have learned so much from him. I imagin being a little boy and Murray is teaching me how to play with the audience, how to entertain them right. Facial expressions and everything. Thats very important if you are doing stand up comedy. The audience is always looking at your face.And if Murray would have helped me with that, there would have been no reason to practice in the mirror every day. Because doing this can be exhausting. I need a real audience. Reactions.

I have to become a better comedian. So they`re all happy. I think Murray likes to make others happy,too. People are coming home after a long day of work, they turn on the tv and watch the Murray Franklin show to forget about anything for w while. To have a good laugh and everything. And thats what I want to give to people. Making their day a little bit more bearable by watching me telling jokes. 

Everything would have been easier if I had him as a father. I bet he would be proud of me today. My journal is filled with jokes lately and he would love the fact that I am able to write my own jokes. Wow. I can literally imagin him reading my diary and laugh at that last joke I just figured out. 

I also tell him that I take good care of my mother. He has to know that I´m a good son. I`ll do anything for my family.

"All that sacrifice she must love you very much". See? Murray understands it all. 

"She does! She always tells me to smile and put on a happy face. She said I was put here to spread joy and laughter!"

His "Wow" proofes that he is impressed. For a second I feel something inside of me. Must be happiness but I´m not sure because I had never known it. 

He askes me if I want to come up stage. I`m acting shy, I dont want him to think I wanna steal his show. But god, I think it really is happiness growing inside of me as I make my way up to the stage. The audience is clapping for me and I make a bow and smile at them. 

I`m Arthur. Arthur Fleck. And I know I can make you happy. Just let me. Please, just give me a chance. You will see.

Murray touches my arm. He whispers "That was great Arthur, thank you. I loved what you had to say. It made my day."

I thank him. I know its not enough but its all I can do.

"You know the lights, the show the audience and all that stuff. I`d give it up in a heartbeat to have a kid like you".

This means the world to me. 

A son like me!

I smile at him, feeling warm inside.

We hug and I hold him as tight as possible. Trying to actually feel his arms around me. I try. I try so hard to feel it because deep down I know i`m still sitting on that bed with a mother that never loved me.

6.)

A pale light is falling through the window, filling only the corner of the room. Its not enough light to make the darkness vanish or less demanding. Golden beams kissing my left shoulder bone as if they wanted to point out my weakest spot.

Its is the same as it is in reality. Or what I call reality. I can never be sure of that. What I call reality might not be true to others. Thats what I have learned through the years and it was a tough road to take.

There was always this beam of light coming from the center of my heart, trying to shine through the only thing people saw when they were looking at me. Heavy darkness. The light was too little, too dim to make them notice. Although to me it felt like a sharp beam coming out of my chest, aching for love and acceptence.

And just as the sunlight hitting my fragile shoulders, the light within me almost felt like my weak spot. It made me vulnerable to others. And they felt it. That light was waiting to be loved, to be held in someones arms. Someone to place kisses across the lines along my sharp bones. Make them soft. Make me soft.

But people know when you are vulnerable and they will use it against you.

On real bad days I was convinced it would have been better to suffocate that golden shimmer for its best. Maybe it would be liberating to allow the darkness to compleately take me in. To become one with the blackness that everyone was seeing in me.

To proof them they were right about me.

That I was nothing more than that.

Its what they want.

People love it when you proof them that they were right about you all the time.

No matter how you feel about it.

It never matters.

They only cae about their own opinions.

No one thinks about what its like to be someone else.

If youère different, you`re wrong.

And if your mind doesnt work the way theirs do, you`re worthless.

Your point of view is worthless. Because it might differ.

Because you cannot proof anything.

Its just you and your own thoughts.

The only conversation you will ever have.

The only comfort.

Your greatest enemy.

You just stit there in the dark with the light hitting you and you are not even sure anymore if you deserve that gentle glimmer upon your aching skin.

The sun won`t reach the parts of my back that hurt the most.

They`re hidden. Maybe for no one to see.

But I have to feel them.

The bruises on my right shoulder blade, making every move painful for me.

Blue. Feeling blue.

Owning a body is a chore.

Maybe I would be happier without one.

This body will never be loved anyway.

Its just sitting there, holding that isolated soul within.

Like a cave.

Thats why I´m screaming.

Let me out.

Let me out of this cave of flesh and aching bones.

Sometimes after I get beaten up, which happens a lot, I just wish they would have beaten me to death.

It would spare me walking up these stairs again. Coming home to my mother. Facing another day, another night.

I`m not sure about how long I can do this anymore.

Not all alone.

Not without a lover, a friend, a hand to hold.

Someone to talk to.

I try to stretch my shoes.

They`re way too tight for me. Just like my body.

Those shoes wrap around my feet like snake skin that has been gotten too tight. Even though my feet are not very big and my ankles are incredibly small.

Just like my own skin. It became too tight to live in. It contricts me.

Maybe thats why my bones are sticking out like crazy. This body is just too tight to contain a heavy soul like mine. There is no room for so many thoughts and nightmares anymore.

They have to run free.

The more I try to make these shoes fit the more my back starts to ache.

I put the shows down and sigh.

Whispers from the corner of the room. Laughter,

I almost forgot I am not the only one in this room. i usually do because people ignore me. Even here at work. I come here everyday, its always the same group of people and they still talk to each other on the make up table and in front of the mirror like it is the most natural thing in the world to leave me sitting there by myself.

I won`t get their jokes anyway. I`m sue I would laugh at the wrong line or something. And they would say “Why are you even a clown when you dont know what an punchline is?” And that would hurt even more than the bruises on my shoulders ever could.

I take a breath. Not as deep as I should. i should take a deep one. But I feeel like I can`t. There is not enough air left for me. It feels like my workmates sucked all the air out of Ha-Has`s . So there is nothing left for me anymore. They want me to suffocate. I just feel it. they want me dead.

Randall entes the room “Whats up ladies?”

“Hey Randall, whats up?” the others ask him.

“Another day in chuckletown” he replies as he hangs his clown suit on his locker. His locker is not far from mine so he has to stand right next to me. He would have never come to me if his locker wasnt there. he trows his stuff on the bench I sit on.

“You okay?”

As if he really wants to know….

No one ever asks me if I am okay. Not even my mother. All she cares about is Thomas Wayne. And all that Randall cares about is making fun of others. Especially me and Gary.

Do I look like I am okay to you? I really feel the urge to ask him that but i remain silent. Like always. I`m not very good at words. They`re in my head all the time. But they won`t come out the right way. Not like I want them to come out. And if they do, people missunderstand me. So I just let it be most of the time.

“I`ve heard about the beatdown you took. Fucking savages.”

I ill sttry to stretch my shoes as he opens his locker and manages his stuff.

“it was just a bunch of kids. I should have left it alone”

I dont want them to know how horrible it was. That I was lying there on the concreate. My lungs aching from trying to get some air after they kicked me so hard I almost fainted.

“No” Randall says “They take everythign from you if you do that. All the crazy shit out there….they`re animals”.

I´m almost about to grin. Acting like you actually care, Randall,huh? I know you`re not a friend of mine. I do not have any friends if it I had some it surely wouldnt be you.

He is looking at me in a weird way. I dont look at him but I can feel it. I almost feel it when people look at me in a creepy way he does right now. I feel his eyes on me and I dont like it.

“You knwo what?” i keep ignoring him like he always ignored me. I dont even know why is is talking to me all of the sudden. Something must be wrong.

He walks up to me and I don`t have a choice but to look at him. He`s a big guy. I look like a kid compared to him. I was always a little bit intimidated by his presence.

“Here” he whispers. handing me a brown paper bag.

“What is it?” I ask him.

“Take it” he says with a low voice “Its for you”.

I take the bag and open it. A gun. A fucking gun. Seriously?

I cant help but chuckle at the whole situation. I feel strange even holding a bag with a gun in it. I cant imagin taking it out and touching the surface of it. Holding it in my hand… I dont think I could do that. I`m not the type of guy that would walk around Gotham with a gun in his pocket. And I shouldnt have one anyway. My medication makes me unstable at times, makes me lose all sense of reality. having a gun wouldnt be a good idea at all. But still…its kinda funny. And I´m kinda curious to hold it in my hands. Just a bit afraid it might feel way too good.

“Otherwise you`re gonna get fucked” he adds.

“Randall….I slightly lean towards him, whispering so the others won`t notice what was going on "I`m not supposed to have a gun…”

Despite my aching back I try to sit up straight and look him in the eyes to make my point clear. I really shouldnt own that kinda thing. But the words come out of my mouth differently. It sounds like a shy whisper only. Not very convincing.

“Don`t sweat it, Art. no one has to know…”

I feel my lips forming to a smile.

“And you can pay me back some other time…”

The light from the window hits Randalls face in a way that creeps me out. Like it wants to point out something. Like it KNOWS. More than I know.

“You know you`re my boy….” he says. His voice sends shivers down my sharp spine. I dont know how to feel so I chuckle.

A chuckle could mean anything. At least in my case.

I have a bad feeling about this.

But on the other hand…Maybe owning a gun would not be as bad after all.

I feel the weight of the weapon through the paper bag.

Maybe its just like light and dark.

Maybe this gun will protect me after all.

And maybe, just maybe I will pay him back some other time…

I laugh. I laugh because its the only reaction I know when I am unsure of how to react.   
Gary says Hoyt wants to see me in his office. Never a good sign. But I like hearing Garys voice. He always sounds like he really means what he says. Unlike Randall. Gary is the only one I trust around here. He knows how to be friendly. He doesnt even try to be, he`s a nice guy by nature and thats a rare thing these days. Especially when you live in Gotham. To be honest, I dont know how it is to live anywhere else. I`ve never made it out of this city. Not yet. But someday I will. As soon as I made enough money with my stand ups, I`ll move to California and buy a nice house on the beach. Nothing big or anything. Just small, nice place to stay and be save. The day will come when I look back at this shitty life and think "Wow, how did you even made it though the day in Gotham? How did you manage not to kill yourself? Especially after Randall gave you that gun....It would be easy now right? Just a twitch of the finger. A click.  
I let out a deep sign as I close my locker and put on my white shirt. Randall just made a bad joke about Gary being small and I think its pretty evil to do that. Poor Gary. I know how he must feel right now. Even though he never shows it. I know he`s hurt. I laugh. Again. Its difficult to botton up my shirt while laughing because I try to stop my hands froms shaking. I try to make this laugh seem real. Like I really thought Randall`s joke was funny. Despite it being mean, was it funny? Maybe there is a part of me, deep inside who gets the joke. Laughing at things that make me feel uncomfortable. And my reaction makes me feel even more uncomfy than the joke itself.  
Unatural. It comes off as unnatural and I know this. But I cant help it. Thats just me. Happiness is a unnatural thing to me. Why cant I just be naturally happy like everyone else?  
I walk into Hoyts office. He is wearing his red shirt. Another bad sign. Its my fave color but it never means something good when Hoyt is wearing it. Its like a warning sign he is pointing right at your face. Dont mess with me today.   
"Hello Hoyt. Gary said you wanted to see me".   
He looks busy. Actually he didnt even looked at me when I came through that door. As if I was invisible or something. "How is your career going? Are you a famous stand up yet?" He still doest look at me. Hoyt reminds me of one of my techers back in scool. Maybe thats why I feel so intimitated by him. I feel my body posture changing. i`m back at scool. Standing in front of the chalkboard, being asked stupid questions I dont have an answer for. I`m a little boy again, trying to make it though the day.  
"Not quite. Just been working on my material".  
Oh I have been working a lot! I was working all night and the night before and the night before, because I suffer from insomnia, so I was thinking of some new jokes until the sun came up again. But if I had the chance to fall asleep I might have some nightmares about scool and that teacher which reminded me so much of you, Hoyt. I hate you. I hate your voice.  
I wanna sit down but he tells me that I dont have to take a seat. This will be quick. I feel my fake smile fading. I cant do this anymore.   
"I like you Arthur, a lot of the guys think you`re a freak but I like you...."  
I smile but I dont feel it.  
"...I dont even know why I like you...."  
I dont smile anymore and I can feel this.  
He tells me about how pissed off he is.  
Well, he is not the only one. I`m working hard here. Trying to be noce and polite, trying to make people smile. I love this job, actually. As soon as I am out of this building and i´m at the kids hospital seeing their little faces and they`re eyes brighten up its all worth it. Even hearing Hoyts voice and noticing the way he is looking at me.   
Well now he is looking at me. Finally. But I dont like the way he does it. He`s talking about how I didnt return the sign to Kennys music.  
"Because...I got jumped....didnt you hear?"  
"For a sign? Thats bullshit. This doesnt even makes sense...just give him the sign back for gods sake , Arthur!"  
Of course it doesnt make sense. My whole life doesnt make any cents. Thats right, it doesnt make sense to beat me up in a dirty alley just because I was doing my dance on the streets, trying to spread laughter and joy . It doesnt make sense to insult me because I am wearing a clown costume to pay rent for my sick mother. Damn right it doesnt make sense, Hoyt!  
"Why would I keep that sign?" I ask him while I feel my voice cracking. So many thoughts are running through my head but they all lead into one blurry cloud until I cant figure out anything.   
"How the fuck do I know? Why is anybody do anything?" he replies.  
This hit me hard, so I better try not to show it. I know it just takes one breath and I will break out in laughter. A bad one which would choke me. So I hold my breath.  
Why is anybody do anything? Such a cruel question when you think about it. He admits that there is no point in doing anything. Just endless suffering. We all just exist but no one feels alive. No one actually knows why he is doing what he is doing. Itsjust day after day after day. What a miserable life to live. Maybe this is the big final joke after all. That no one knows what he is even doing. They all just pretend.   
I´m done with pretending. I pretended all my life.  
Pretended to be happy.  
Pretended to laugh.  
To not being hurt.  
To get the joke.  
Hoyt is talking about how he has to take it out of my paycheck if I dont return the sign and that I should listen to him telling me how the other guys dont feel comfortable around me because they think i´m weird.  
I`m back at scool and my teacher is yeling at me. Telling me that the other kids are scared of my laughter.   
So I try my best not to laugh.  
Arthur, just dont.  
Dont laugh.  
It hurts and I swallow it.  
And it hurts more.  
How do you escape from being yourself?

7.)

As soon as I get out that building I`m finding myself in a dirty alley kicking the trash cans All that anger that has been rising up inside of me. I have to let it out. But no one can know. I`m kicking as hard as my body allows me to. Kicking with all the strengh that is left in me. Until I fall down. I hurt my knee real bad. The pain is immense. But no one is here to wittness.

Going up these stairs, entering the building , coming home to mum. It`s a chore. Every day it`s a fucking chore to do so. My whole body hurts. I should`t have kicked those trash cans so hard. I think I hurt my knee. But does it matter? As long as Penny doesn`t notice I am hurt again it should be fine. I don`t want her to worry about me. I don`t want her to see the bruises others did to me or the cigarette burns on my wrist which I did to myself. Since she committet me to Arkham months ago for hurting myself I am even more careful to hide it from her.

Not that Arkham is some kind of hell for me.

This is. This is hell. Opening that letter box to once again find nothing in it. Entering this elevator to get home to my mum, being asked if Thomas Wayne finally send a letter. Her voice when she calls me Happy. That`s my personal hell and it never ends. Every day is the same.

I can`t get out of this dead city. Of this building which holds so many horrible memories for me. And most tragically- I can`t get out of my own skin. Out of this tired body. I cannot hide from my own twisted mind. Let`s be honest, I am a total mess.

No matter how hard I try to fullfill my purpose in life. To make people laugh. I mostly fail. It`s all just a big joke and I am the fucking punshline no one understands.

If only there was a way to escape from myself and all that I am.

I tried to be myself. I tried to make them love me. But they can`t. They can`t love me. I am nothing but a freak to them. I need a new skin. A new identity. A new name. A new face. To start all over again. No more Arthur Fleck.

I enter the elevator. My body feels like carrying the weight of the whole city on this small shoulders. I push that elevator button 5 times to make sure it works. It never works if I push it once. The dim, greenish light from the ceiling is shining upon me. But I can barely see it. My eyes are focused on the dirty ground.

There should be spotlights. That´s where I should stand. In the shiney spotlghts of the Murray Franklin show. Not here. Not in this building. Thats not where I was meant to be at all.

Just as the elevator door is about to close a voice caughts my attention. “Wait, wait, wait, wait.” It`s her voice. I react immediately and look up. My foot moves towards the door to stop it. I`m a romantic at heart. That move feels like a dacing step. My body feels different within a second. I want her to know that I´m a gentleman.

Sophie thanks me as she enters the small room with her little dauhter. her Thank you sounds kinda unpersonal but it`s better than nothing. To me it`s a lot to be honest. people bareley thank me for being nice to them. I really hope she noticed that I loved opening that door for her.

I push the elevator button again. Just once. Because I feel like I am lucky right now. So once will do it as well.

I take a quick look at her as she passes me. It all goes so fast. Too fast. I wish I could slow it down right now. To have more time with her. To let her know. But I can`t.

The door closes. Pushing that button once was enough. I knew it. I just knew it. Maybe I get lucky today. Maybe Sophie will talk to me. Or look at me. Or both. I really wish for both.

I think of a way to talk to her. It`s impossible. I am way too scared to laugh at her face. My body freezes and I`m just standing there, doing nothing.

I feel Gigi`s eyes on me. She kinda hides in the corner, looking at me like she is scared of me. This hurts. How would any kid be scared of me? I love kids and I would love to tell her some jokes. I bet she has a beautiful smile. I mean, it`s Sophies daughter after all, right? I wish I had my magic wand with me to cheer her up. But I got nothing but a pack of cigarettes and an empty purse. I lose, once again.

I caught myself looking down. My eyes are almost closed. I just can`t look at Sophie. I am too shamed of my fantasies about her. If only she knew….

What would she think of me, knowing that every night when I go to bed, I think about kissing her soft lips, feeling her loving arms around me, keeping me warm? Or me just grabbing her and kiss her passionately until she is out of breath? Making out. I think about her a lot. I think about her naked skin next to mine while I`m hinding under the blankets of my worn out couch, touching myself while my mother is aslpeep. I wish I had a photograph of her. I would put it under my pillow to dream of her at night.

But she doesn`t know that I am in love with her ever since she moved here. Or maybe she does? Maybe she is just playing games? Is there any chance she fantasies about me,too? I imagin her thinking of me making love to her before she falls asleep. I hope she knows how gentle I can be. I hope she sees me as I am.

My eyes open for a brief moment, just to look down again as I realize she is whispering something to her daughter. I can feel her looking at me. Somehow it makes me feel uncomfortable. Shouldn`t I feel good? She is standing right next to me! The woman of my dreams. And all I do is going on the inside. Like I always so.

And now it happens.

The elevator gets stucked.

Coincidence? Or is it destiny?

Me and her stuck in the elevator together.

How ironic.

I dreamed about this so many times.

I played it all through in my head.

The elevator gets stucked and I am looking at her, realziing she was staring at me all the time. And I just grab her face and kiss her. She wouldn`t notice that it`s my very first kiss because I am natural talent. She couldnt get enogh of me and we end up at her place.

Sophie looks annoyed as we stop. Her daughter is giggeling.

“This building is so aweful isn`t it?” she is finally talking so I dare to look at her face for the first time. She is wearing a red jacket over a blue shirt. I like it. The red and blue. Especially the red jacket. It`s my fave color. Maybe I should think about getting a red jacket,too. I think she would like it.

For a moment I get lost in her big, brown eyes. Her beauty is overwhelming.

She thinks this building sucks,too. Maybe we are not that different. She ended up where I grew up. Maybe it´s all meant to be in the end.

“This building is so aweful, right mommy?” Gigi looks at her mum. She also doesnt like it here. I see a connectio between us. We would make a great family. I would love to be a good daddy for her little daughter. I bet she would love a dad that is a party clown. Who wouldn`t?

Family.

This would be a dream come true.

We could share so much love.

“Yes we can hear you, Gigi. ” Sophie says. You can tell that this is all to much for her. Beng alone with her daughter. She needs a man on her side. Someone who takes care of her and Gigi.

I am right here. I hope you notice.

“It`s soooo aweful, mommy”.

Sophie takes her left hand and imitates a gunshot to her head. She even does the noise.

I smile.

I guess thats her way of telling me we are not that different after all.

She understands me more than I know.

I love her for doing this.

It makes me feel even closer to her.

I finally look her in the eyes. A smirk is crossing my face.

She hates it here as much as I do. She is tired of life,too. Maybe we could just run away together.

The ring of the doorbell interrups my thoughts. I haven`t even noticed that the elevator moved again.

“Good night” Sophie looks at me and smiles.

She smiles and wishes me a good night.

Oh, I will definitely have some nice dreams of you tonight, my love.

I can`t belive how lucky I got today.

They both leave the elevator before me and Gigi goes “This building is so aweful, isnt it?”. There is a man shouting and a baby crying in the background. Damn right it is precious, little girl.

“Mmmmhhh hmmmm” Sophie agrees.

I walk into the other direction. M apartment is down the hall from hers.

But I gotta do something. I can`t just leave and go home. I have to let her know that I got her sign.

I can`t let this chance pass.

She has to know that I felt the connection.

I decide to turn around “Hey!”

She turns around, looking kinda surprised that I said something. I never say something.

I mirror her head to gun gesture. Just much quicker than she did. I point my fingers to my head and imitate a gun shot while I let my head fall to the side.

See? I also feel like dying.

I understand you, Sophie.

I really do.

I look at her and wait for hear reaction. My head still leaned towards my shoulder like I just shot myself.

I can finally look her in the eyes now.

She smiles. Its`s a strange smile. Kinda reminds me of when I am trying to smile but I dont feel like it. She really knows what I am going through.

Sophie turns around and unlocks her door. She gives me one last look before she gets into her apartment.

I guess we just flirted with each other. Thats was good. real good. A smirk is crossing my lips as I lift an eyebrow and turn around to get into my apartment.

Some day, Sophie we will be untited.

You will laugh at my jokes and I will hold you in my loving arms forever.

8.)

"Hold up"  
Taking care of my mum is something I actually like to do. Being needed feels good. Still. Even if I wish that someone was there to take care of me,too. isnt that how it is supposed to be? Taking care of others and been taking care of ? I`m not asking for much. Juts to get something in return.   
Mum leans her head back so I can wash her hair. She is sitting in the bathtub. We must look like we`re real close to each other in the eyes of a stranger. A son washing his mothers hair while she is atually naked in the bathtub. But sometimes I doubt if we are even very close. She`s the only one I have. So I want us to be close. I just hope I am wrong about this feeling inside.  
"Maybe the mail man`s is thowing them away".  
Here we go again. I ask her why this letter is so important to her. What she thinks Thomas is going to do?  
She tells me he`s gonna help us, which seems ridiculous to me but I dont show it to her. I´m good in hiding my real emotions from my mum. It has been nessecary over the years.  
"But you worked for him...waht? 30 years ago? Why would he help us?"   
Trying to be calm.No, I actually am calm. The moon is a silver dollar is playing in the radio and that one always calms me down.   
She replies to me what a good man Thomas is and if he knew how we are living it would make him sick. Also that she cant explain it to me any better than that.  
So why not? Why not explain it better to me because I still dont understand why Thomas Wayne would care about us at all? I am a total stranger to him and mum is just someone that worked for him three decades ago.   
But I keep my mouth shut because I dont wanna upset her. Maybe it helps her in a way. Beliving that lie that someone cares about how we spent our life. I hope she was right. I should just say something that will stop her worries. Trying to be a good son here.  
" Dont want you to worry about money, mum. Or me. Everybody is telling me that my stand ups are ready for the big clubs".  
Mum looks at me with surprise "But Happy what makes you think you could do that?"  
Happy!  
I`m trying to make her feel better and thats what I get in return. A slap in the fuckin face. The day will come when I will be ready to tell her how much this nickname hurts. Isnt she aware? Is she doing this on purpose?   
"What do you mean?" I ask her.  
"I mean....Dont you have to be funny to be a comedian?"  
I`m just staring back at her. Trying to let it it show that she just ripped out my heart.

9.)

I darken the room almost compleately. The only light is the one coming from the tv screen. I choose a music channel,to stop the music inside of my mind. I need to calm down. I am freaking excited since Randall gave me the gun earlier. I dont know why but something about owning a gun makes me feel different. At first I thought it was a bad idea. I told him I am not supposed to have one and thats how I felt about it, until I came home, helped my mother washing her hair, waited until she was ready for bed and got back on my sleeping couch to open the paper bag with growing curiousity inside.

I take a look into it. I dont wanna take it out yet. It still feels strange. I shouldnt own this thing. Someone could get hurt. What if the gun would feel way to good in my hands? I cant deny I`m kinda afraid of the thought that I might enjoy it. 

I`m the kinda guy thats not good in defending himself. I always fall into freeze mode when I get beaten up. I actually never fought back. Not that I could remember. Something inside of me makes my limbs go numb the moment I get beaten. Like my mind tells my body to just take it and wait it out, or I might get punished worse.

That feeling of weakness in front of others. That feeling of being unable to move. Its paralyzing and terrifying.

A gun could definitaly turn the pages.

There is nothing I have to do except pointing it at them and they will step away from me. Maybe I wouldnt even be afraid to use it if they still try to mess with me.

Who knows?

But it could be a good start to feel saver out there. Especially in Gotham. A lot of pricks are running around the streets. A lot of aweful people. I really start to like the throught of carrying a gun with me.

I really don`t wanna hurt anyone.

But I dont wanna be the victim anymore eighter.

I always thought I was born with a purpose.

To make people happy.

But over the years I only felt like I was born a victim.

I couldnt make them smile.

I was bad at being myself.

And who else could I be?

I take the gun out of the bag and place it on the table, lighting myself a cig. The bullets lie beneath the gun. Randall put some in the paper bag,too.

Penny should be asleep by now. I have to be sure because it would be terrbible if she comes into the living room and sees her son with a fucking gun in his hand. I dont wanna scare her. She would be shocked. Hurt. And I dont want to hurt my mother. Even though she hurts me a lot. Like she just did half an hour ago in the bathroom. Telling me I wasnt funny really hit me. I dont even know if she is aware of how much it hurt. Maybe I should have told her.I wanted to. I wanted to tell her “Ma, this hurts.This really fucking hurts. I thought you were the one saying I have a purpose?”

But I couldnt do it. Just like I can`t tell her how much it hurts to be called “Happy” all the time.

I breathe in the smoke. Fire in my lungs.

Why does she even call me Happy when I´m not funny to her? It doesnt make any sense.

My whoe life doesnt make any sense.

I still wait for the day I have the guts to tell her that all her words hit me like knifes. That I was never happy. That I hate this name. Just like I hate the name Penny Fleck. The sound of it. Its disgusting.

I finish my cigarette and touch the gun.

I let my fingers slide back and forth to feel the cold surface of it. Smooth and dangerous to the touch.

I move it a bit so it knocks against the table.

Knock knock

I take the gun in both of my hands and feel the weight. It feels good. Its heavier than I thought. I kinda like it. The surface feels interesting against my skin.

“Zoom zoom zoom zoom. The world is in a mess” the music coming from the TV screen says more than a thousand words. They`re right. The world is messed up.

I know I am.

I point at the screen. At the singing people. Smiling while they`re telling you how terrible everything is. They would make good clowns.

“Politics and taxes. And people grinding axes. There`s no happiness”

They really speak to me. Its funny. Do they read my thoughts?

Songs on the radio and on the TV seem to speak to me lately.

Coincidence?

Or am I finally being seen?

I will be seen with that gun in my hand.

But….still…no one can know.

Pointing at the people on the screen feels interesting. But…let them sing. Those guys seem to have a purpose. Music is important.

“Hapiness is not a riddle when I`m listening to that bg bass fiddle….zoom….zoom…”

Lets point at mothers empty couch instead.

I make a quiet gun sound.

I wonder how it would actually FEEL to point this thing at someone?

I take it down and use both hands again.

CLICK.

That sound turned me on in a way.

I move my hand and take a closer look at the weapon.

I was right about this. It feels damn good. Maybe there could be even more to this weapon. I feel confident for the first time. It floads through my body and I feel like I cant sit around anymore. I have to express my feelings. This moment is special to me. I have never felt confident in my life. This is different. Something changes inside of me.

I feel it emerge.

I move the gun in my hand as if it is dancing and I stand up to dance to its rythm,too.

The music still playing from the tv.

I put my arms above my head, the gun still in my left hand and start to dance to the feeling that is growing inside of me like a shadow.

“Slap that bass, keep the rythm busy…zoom zoom zoom. MISERY YOU GOT TO GO!”

Sometimes I`m not good with words. I`m not good in showing how I actually feel. But dancing never lets me down. Its my way of exression how I actually feel inside, when every other form of communication doesnt seem to work the way I want it to. Dancing is my true language. Its my true self showing.

The real me.

MISERY YOU GOT TO GO!

They`re right again.

Music always speaks to me.

But how could I make misery go away?

What makes me feel miserable?

Other people do.

“Hey whats your name?” I ask in the room, dancing like I really want to impress someone.

I turn to the imaginary person that asked me so and take my hands behind my head

“Arthur”.

I change my positionm slow down a bit.

“Hey Arthur, you`re a really good dancer!”

Back to the movement. I feel sexy. Hmm…

“I know. You know who`s not? HIM!”

People with no sense of music. I hate them. I fucking hate them.

I pull the trigger.

It fired!

It was actually loaded.

The sound of the gun, the power of the shot against my hands scares the shit out of me.

I fall to the ground, feeling shocked. What did just happen?

I immediately pick myself up from the floor and turn the volume up. It was freaking loud, I am afraid my mother could have heard it. SHit.

“…..the happiest men…..” they sing….

“Happy, what was that? Are you okay?”

I knew it woke her up. I just knew it.

I hurry up and check the hole in the wall.

I cant belive I did that.

I shot a hole in the wall.

In our living room.

I touch it. Gently. To make sure this is real. That this was a real shot.

I feel the warm ,small circle with my fingertips. Its shape.

I would have never fired it if I knew it was loaded.

Why would Randall give me a loaded gun?

“That noise. Did you hear taht noise?” Penny yells from the bedroom.

My finger is still discovering that hole in the wall. Its kinda fascinating.

“I`m watching an old war movie!”

“Turn it down!”

This is too much.

I ran my fingers through my hair.

What am I gonna do now to cover up that hole? Will mum ever notice?

Where am I gonna hide the gun?

I didnt want that.

I messed up again.

“Um….SORRY MUM!”

I pace around, trying to figure out why Randall would hand me a loaded gun?

I could have killed myself by accident.

Is that what he wanted?

Was it all a plan against me?

Hoyt said most of the guys think i´m a freak.

Maybe they wanted to get rid of me, so they dont have to deal with my laughter anymore.

I could have killed myself….

I put the gun back in the paper back.

Maybe I should have…

\------To be continued--------


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